


Distraction

by Corrie71



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-01
Updated: 2013-07-01
Packaged: 2017-12-16 17:34:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/864737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Corrie71/pseuds/Corrie71
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During a stakeout, John is distracted enough to nearly get Sherlock killed. This fic is what happens next.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Distraction

_Prompt: After a nearly disastrous case, Sherlock and John share a tense taxi ride back to Baker Street. With emotions running high, they finally arrive back at 221B, and then…_

John stared out the window, arms crossed over his chest. He tried to suck in air, get a deep breath, but couldn’t quite manage it. He bit his lip, hard, focusing on the small pain to prevent himself from hyperventilating. His heart drummed against his ribcage, like an animal in pain, fighting to break free. He flexed his fingers, trying to force circulation into his numb hands, and ignored the wateriness in his knees. He knew a panic attack when he felt it. 

All he could think was “Your dumb mistake…Sherlock nearly died. The two thoughts formed a loop in his brain, circling like some parody of a carousel. Only the far worse thought that Sherlock might never forgive him, might shut him out from cases, might charge into danger alone, brought the horrible whirl to a stop. Now his mind froze in blank terror. John swallowed hard and blinked to clear the white haze of panic from the edges of his vision.

“Do calm down.” Sherlock snapped, from his seat beside him. “Breathe, John.”

John glanced over at him, but Sherlock stared out the opposite window, watching their beloved city rush past. The dawn gilded his dark curls, making him appear more ethereal than ever. 

“Sherlock, I’m….”

“Do not, under any circumstances, apologize.” Sherlock ground out and John fell silent. Numbly, he climbed from the cab and followed Sherlock into 221B. John collapsed into his chair, his watery knees unable to hold him up any longer. Sherlock took the chair across from him, his hands clasped in prayer position in front of his mouth, observing John. John ignored the scrutiny, still fighting to keep his breathing under control.

“You blame yourself.” Sherlock said, surprise at the edge of his voice. “You shouldn’t.”

“You were nearly shot because of me.” John managed and put his head between his knees.

“I have been nearly shot dozens of times before.” Sherlock pointed out. “And you weren’t the one shooting so I fail to see…”

“I was distracted.” John managed and prayed Sherlock would not ask what he’d been distracted by. Sherlock fell silent for several seconds.

“You are not my bodyguard.” Sherlock said, quietly. “You are my…Well, there is no word in the English language for what you are.”

John glanced up, surprised. “What does that mean?”

“You didn’t notice the gunman behind me because you were looking at me, at my face, at my…lips.” John squeezed his eyes shut and put his head on his knees again. Trust Sherlock to just blunder into it. They’d been on a stakeout, crammed together for hours in a tiny, cramped vestibule. Bored, John allowed his mind to wander and, as it often did, his thoughts settled on Sherlock. John had been wondering what would happen if he just leaned in and pressed his lips to Sherlock’s lush mouth. The only reason Sherlock wasn’t dead was the gunman’s abysmal aim. 

John clasped his shaking hands together tightly. “As I said, no word in the English language.” Sherlock leaned back and picked up his newspaper, clearly believing the matter was at an end.

“Don’t you want to know what I was distracted by?” John heard himself rasp. Sherlock rattled his paper as he turned the page and didn’t answer. “I was thinking about kissing you.” 

Several seconds ringing silence greeted John’s confession and then Sherlock flipped another page in his newspaper, the sound echoing in the still, quiet flat. “I’m aware of that.” 

“I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry you were thinking of kissing me or sorry that you didn’t do it?” Sherlock asked, crumpling the paper into his lap.

John raised his head to stare at him. “I’m sorry that I was distracted and nearly got you killed.”

“I’m sorry you didn’t kiss me.” Sherlock answered and raised the paper again. John ripped it out of his hands to stare at him, which did no good because he could not read the unfathomable expression in those blue-gray-green ocean eyes. “Would you like to do so now?”

John managed to nod and Sherlock tilted his face up, eyes screwed shut, lips puckered, like a caricature of a kiss. John blinked and barked out a short laugh. Sherlock’s face fell and he managed to look offended. John leaned down and cupped his hand over the back of Sherlock’s head. Slowly, infinitesimally, John bent and brushed his lips over Sherlock’s mouth. Sherlock let out a breathy little groan and fisted his hands in John’s jumper. John deepened the kiss and brushed his tongue over Sherlock’s lower lip before standing again. Sherlock’s eyes fluttered open. 

“No word in the English language, huh?” John said, with a half smile. “How about this? I love you.” 

Sherlock smiled. “That’s three words. Does it help to tell you I also wanted you to kiss me? That I could barely keep my mind on the case with you pressed against me, your scent surrounding me…” Sherlock stood and, after a half-second’s hesitation, wrapped his arms around John. “I have little experience in these matters, John. I will follow your lead.”

John took his hand and pulled him toward the bedroom where he proceeded to show Sherlock just how delightful being distracted could be.


End file.
